A Dream in Real Life
by Black Stormraven
Summary: Sometimes Eames needs a respite from the dreamworld. But sometimes reality can be just as exciting...and terrifying. Eames/OC, post-movie
1. Chapter 1

Picking her lock had always been alarmingly easy. Eames let out a breath through his nose as he pushed the door open; he'd have to sit her down and explain yet again why she needed to upgrade her security. He didn't bother to hide his footsteps; Therese could sleep through a train wreck without budging. He dropped his bag on the couch and kept on to her bedroom. The thought that she may not even be home (it was Saturday night, after all) crossed his mind, but disappeared the moment he saw the lump curled up on the bed. He took the opportunity to simply look at her for a moment before pulling off his shirt and removing his shoes.

Eames quietly slid under the sheet and molded himself around the woman who gave his mind peace. His muscular arms wrapped around her smaller frame and pulled her closer to him. Burying his nose in her hair and inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo, his body lost its tension and sank into the calm he always felt around her. He brushed his lips over the tattoo on her shoulder when she stirred. The small TARDIS with its opened door was a reminder to her that life was filled with wonder and magic and endless possibilities…if one only knew where to look. Normally he would have thought the sentiment foolish, but not with Therese. She lived by that inspiration and it endeared her to him all the more.

"You should have called," she muttered into the darkness. "I would have cleaned the place up for you."

"It was a last minute trip," he whispered back, one hand stroking her arm. "And the place looks fine, love."

Eames loosened his hold enough for her to turn around, his lips turning up in a small grin at the sight of her sleepy smile. "I always slack off on the housework when you're gone." Her eyes fluttered open. "It's sad that my only motivation for cleaning is when I'm expecting company."

"Fine, then. You can clean to your heart's delight in the morning."

"Let's not get carried away," she laughed. Her eyes swept over his face and what she could see of his neck, her hand soon following. "Something happened, didn't it," she said softly, her brow furrowing with worry. "What's wrong?"

He never could hide much from her (even though he hid everything), and he once again cursed her perceptiveness. He took her hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Just another business deal gone sour. Nothing to worry your pretty head over, darling." She didn't need to know about the botched extraction that nearly cost him his life thanks to the half-witted architect. It was jobs like that that made him miss working with Cobb, Ariadne, and even Arthur. He shouldn't have come to Atlanta so soon, not while the heat was still on him, but he'd taken precautions. He'd kept his hair long and grew out his beard for that job, and gotten rid of them both in a Hungarian airport restroom. A fake name hadn't hurt his survival chances either. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, he enveloped her in his arms again. "We'll talk some more in the morning, Therese. Go on back to sleep."

She raised an eyebrow at his dismissal but didn't argue. She snuggled into his chest, grateful for his warmth and the security that came with his embrace. "I'm glad you're back, Ian," she murmured against his skin.

_So am I._

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**Short, sappy intro chapter is short and sappy, but there ya go! Hopefully this will be updated more frequently than my three other fics going on. For Eames' first name, I just picked one I'd read in another fic (I've read so many lately I don't remember which one) that I thought fit pretty well.**


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't the lack of heat beside him that woke the forger. It was the smell. He'd thought the weeks of cheap, overcooked, over-fried take out had sufficiently impaired his appetite, but the aroma of home-cooked pancakes, biscuits, and sausage gravy worked its magic on his senses. _Must have slept better than I realized,_ he thought, not at all surprised. Sleeping next to Therese did wonders for his insomnia.

Not bothering to find his shirt from where it had gone in the night, Eames followed the heavenly smell to find Therese in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on a breakfast that made his mouth water. A smile brightened her face when she saw him enter. "You've got great timing," she greeted happily, her Southern drawl clear and bright. He would never understand how she could be such a morning person.

"When did you get up to do all this?" he asked, moving to stand at the island where their plates sat laden with food.

"About an hour ago. It doesn't take long to make and I figured you'd be wanting something with more substance than breakfast bagels and fast food or whatever the hell you've been living on." Turning to set the warm syrup on the counter, she nearly ran into his bare chest. She stepped back with a start, her eyes searching for something else to look at. "Aren't you going to finish getting dressed?"

_Well, that's curious. __She's never minded before._ "Why? Are you distracted by my magnificent physique?" he teased dramatically, flexing one arm to show off his tattooed bicep.

She turned away to hide the rosy blush that began to creep over her face, but Eames caught it. "And here I thought you Brits had more manners than that, Ian." Her tone was casual, but it couldn't quite hide the slight tremor in her voice.

He shot a look at her back, wondering where this sudden shyness had come from. They'd teased each other almost mercilessly since the day they met, had shared a bed since the night she'd had too much to drink and refused to let go of his arm when he'd brought her home, and had exchanged affectionate touches and caresses even before that. What had happened since his last visit to turn her into a blushing schoolgirl? He'd ask her later. Right now those pancakes were making his stomach growl. He dug a clean shirt out of his bag and pulled it on for her sake. When he returned to the kitchen, Therese's blush had disappeared along with her sudden modesty. "By the way, you really need to stop breaking in here before Roy catches you."

Eames waved her concern away with his fork before he stabbed into the biscuits and gravy. "You really need to get a better lock." _Or have someone around to protect you. Where the hell did that come from?_ He shoved the uncalled for thought aside and focused instead on the delicious meal in front of him. Besides, if Roy the security guard ever caught him breaking and entering he could easily take him out without a struggle.

They ate in companionable silence until not a scrap of food was left. He tried to help put things away, but Therese firmly pushed him down in his seat. "You're in the South, Ian," she scolded gently. "I've told you before we don't let guests do housework."

"Whatever makes you happy, darling." He watched her clean up with no short amount of interest. That's what he loved about being around her, how simple and ordinary her day-to-day life was compared to his. There was a peace around her, a serenity he found himself envying more and more lately. He could never completely give up his work (it was too much fun, really), but these bouts of calm were a most welcome change for the forger. His thoughts soon grew less innocent the longer he watched her (as had become the norm over the years), so he left her to her cleaning while he searched his bag for his totem. The seemingly innocuous poker chip had been altered with a weight on one side so that it always stood on its edge and never rolled. Angling himself so she wouldn't see, he sat the chip on the table beside the couch. He let out a relieved breath. _Not dreaming._ "I'm gonna get cleaned up, love," he announced over the running tap.

Mere minutes later and Eames felt (and smelled) infinitely better. Sometime during his shower Therese had started playing. The deep, mournful notes floated from her cello through both the bedroom and bathroom doors to his ears. He didn't recognize the piece, but then again he wasn't exactly well-versed in classical music. When he made his way back to the living area, the piece had changed from something fast and lively to "Hall of the Mountain King" (that one he did recognize). He gave her a suspicious glance but let it slide as he observed her.

Therese was the picture of focus as she played. Her back was ramrod straight, eyes closed, fingers skittering over the cello's neck. Eames hadn't really thought of cellists as sexy, but he saw it right now. How talented and quick her fingers were on the strings, how her knees gripped the instrument as he'd imagined on more than one occasion they'd do to him, the way her lips were parted ever so slightly. He groaned at the enticing sight of her before forcing those thoughts back in their cage. She was his friend and until she told him otherwise she was nothing more or less than that. She gave him comfort without asking for anything in return and seemed quite content to share the occasional caress or chaste kiss without crossing the line between friend and lover. Although part of him wanted more, he cherished what she did give him and wouldn't dare jeopardize the one good thing he had.

She jumped at the sound of his applause as she drew the bow across the strings with a final flourish. "Beautiful as always," he said, moving closer to crouch beside her.

"Flatterer," she chided half-heartedly, setting the instrument back on its stand. "I've been practicing a bit more since I've got a performance tonight. Would you like to come?"

_You first…stop it!_ "I'd be delighted, of course." A sudden idea came to him. He ducked his head almost shyly, knowing she would instinctively move closer. "Soooo, does that mean your morning is free?"

"For you, my whole day is wide open."

"Well, when you put it that way…" He gave her no time to protest as he sprang up and lifted her into his arms, though she did squeak at the sudden move. "What do you say to a couple bad movies, then lunch, and you can have the rest of the evening to get all dressed up for your big show."

Therese giggled when he fell onto the couch with her tightly held against his chest. "That actually sounds pretty awesome. I haven't had a chance to use my Netflix subscription much this month anyway."

The hours ticked away slowly yet simultaneously all too quickly for Eames. She laid back on him between his legs as if completely at ease with the world and her place in it. While she laughed at the ridiculousness of the actors and dialogue of the movie, she remained oblivious to the attention he silently lavished on her. His eyes followed his fingers as they trailed over her bared shoulder and down her arm before his gaze traveled to more…exotic locations. Her breasts gently rose and fell with each breath, each laugh, each gasp at the action on the screen. He had to stay is hand more than once from drifting over to them, though in his mind they practically begged to be touched. Tearing his eyes from them didn't help much, however, not when he found the swell of her hips and their transition into smooth thighs. His brain turned traitor at the sight, launching him into very vivid daydreams about those thighs locked around his waist and those hips surging and twisting against his. The mental images came quicker as he became more aware of the way her back molded to his chest, the aching closeness of her backside to certain sensitive parts of his anatomy. He tried to block out his overactive imagination by closing his eyes to them. His head tilted back on the arm of the sofa, a long, slow breath escaping his lips.

"Are you alright?" Therese asked, her low voice cutting through his thoughts.

_That depends on your definition of 'alright'._ "Just peachy, darling." He had to get away from her. He'd give himself away if he stayed much longer. Her softness, her heat, her scent. They were too much for him right now. "How about that lunch?" He didn't give her a chance to answer, pushing her up just enough to stand and call for delivery from that mom-and-pop Italian place she'd shown him a few visits back.

Lunch went by without a single question from her. That was another reason he enjoyed her company so much: she never asked questions about his job. He knew she was curious, of course, but she never pried. Even now, knowing that something had gone wrong with his last 'business deal' and driven him to her, she just ate her stromboli alongside him as if nothing was amiss.

When the trash was thrown away and the credits started to roll, Therese stood and stretched her arms over her head. Eames couldn't look away from the arch of her back nor the strip of flesh exposed when her tank top rode up. He cleared his face of all expression when she looked down at him, hands on her hips. "Well, I know you're probably exhausted from being treated like a king in first class for hours on end, but I need to stretch my legs for a bit. You're more than welcome to stay and catch up on your sleep, though." There was a mocking note to her voice that he didn't miss.

"Is that a challenge?" he whined, pretending to be offended. "Are you challenging me?"

Walking backwards towards her bedroom, she put on her best 'innocent face', one hand going to her chest in mock outrage. "I am doing nothing of the sort, Ian." She stepped a little faster when he stood and advanced on her. "I am merely expressing my concern for AN OLD MAN'S HEALTH!" The last few words came out in a hurry as she slammed her bedroom door to escape his sudden charge. The door wouldn't have made a difference if he'd really meant to punish her for that remark. Her laughter from the other side both irritated and enflamed him.

"You wound me with such harsh words, Therese," he called.

She laughed again. "If it's any consolation, at least you limeys age well!"

"Cheeky," he muttered with a smirk.

She'd chosen a simple ensemble, but one that continuously drew his attention to her curves. A fitted blouse in the purest shade of sapphire blue clung to her body like a second skin above equally fitted black pants. Even if he hadn't already been painfully attracted to her he would have still appreciated the view. He let her talk as they walked down the sidewalk, his arm around her shoulders. She told him how she'd had to give her cat away to a friend since the new landlord wouldn't allow pets, and how "poor Mrs. Riley had to move; she just couldn't part with that Pomeranian". She talked about how she missed performing with an orchestra after playing solo for the past three months. But she adored being able to share her love of the cello with others without having to compete over the violins, flutes, and snare drums. He loved hearing the passion in her voice when she spoke about playing; it reminded him that not everyone retreated to sleep to live out their dreams.

Therese suddenly stopped and stared into a shop window. Eames followed her gaze and immediately understood her distraction. A necklace that looked like a galaxy contained in a small pendant hung from a display, the sunlight catching the myriad of blues, greens, and purples in the black stone. She was almost obsessed with stars, as was evidenced by her astronomy books, the wallpaper of the Crab Nebula on her desktop, and what little jewelry she owned, including the tiny star she now wore in her right nostril. She looked at the necklace with a mix of awe and disappointment that made his heart clench. The $340 price tag and the 'Reserved' sign were the source of her distress. "Sorry," she said with a glance at his face. "I've had my eye on that for weeks and that's the last one they have. I only managed to save up $200 before someone else came in and offered them more than retail." She gave one last look of longing at the pendant before shaking her head. "Anyway, it's not that big of a deal. I'll find something else to spend that money on…like rent."

They'd gone a couple more blocks before she stopped again. "What's caught your eye now, love?"

"Nothing, but I need to pick up a couple things. Now, you" - she poked a finger into the center of his chest – "go find something to do for a few minutes while I get what I need. It's a surprise," she clarified at his confused look.

"Ahh, well then, as my lady commands." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gallantly, drawing a few stares from passersby. She ducked her head shyly before extricating herself from him and walking away. He would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed embarrassing her sometimes. Luckily for her, he knew exactly where to go to kill some time. Otherwise he'd have tailed her to discover what kind of surprise she had in store.

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**All grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are mine. I are too lazy to find and fix them. I also took some liberties with Eames' totem. Hope you guys liked this chapter! More to come!**


	3. Chapter 3

Eames applauded with the rest of the audience when the last notes of Therese's cover of the _Game of Thrones_ theme echoed in the auditorium. Her smile was the biggest and brightest he'd ever seen and he felt a deserved sense of pride that he was at least part of the reason behind it.

After she'd picked up her dress and shoes (and he a new suit) earlier that afternoon, they'd passed by the jewelry shop on the way back to her apartment. She'd looked ready to burst into tears at the sight of the empty spot where the pendant she'd so admired had hung. He'd tightened his arm around her and kissed her temple. "It's alright, love," he'd offered in an attempt to comfort her.

"Yeah, I knew it wasn't going to stay there very long," she'd said with a sigh, leaning into his side. "I guess just seeing it there still gave me the tiniest hope that maybe the person who'd bought it would change his mind and I could snag it." Another heavy sigh. "Oh well."

He'd hated seeing her so crushed, but he just kept reminding her about her performance later that evening. "I even got a new suit just for tonight," he'd told her firmly once her door had closed behind them, "so don't make it go to waste by being more focused on some pretty bauble than putting Chopin to shame."

That got him a smile. "Chopin played piano, hun, not cello."

"Same difference."

"Is not!" She'd perked up considerably after that and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Her long dress was a simple black (as all classical performers seemed required to wear), but the slash of purple across her chest that went down to one hip along with the upsweep of the skirt kept it from being boring and so unlike her. Her shoulders and arms had been left bare with the exception of the bracelet dangling from her left wrist, silver with star and moon charms. He'd given it to her months ago after a job in Switzerland had gone particularly well. Another set of stars decorated her earlobes and one in her nostril as well. She looked like a goddess in his eyes. "You are stunning, Therese," he'd said in a whisper, kissing her hand.

"You don't clean up too bad yourself," she'd replied casually as she smoothed her palms over the lapels of his new jacket. Seeming to think better of herself, she'd hastily stepped away to grab her cello.

Eames deftly took the instrument from her as he'd pushed her towards the door. "Let me at least pretend to be a gentleman on your big night."

Therese had simply rolled her eyes and started down the stairs. A driver had been sent for her and waited for them at the street corner. Upon arriving at the small concert hall, he'd handed her her cello and made to go in through the main entrance…but he'd turned back. "Oh, I knew I'd forgotten something."

The look on her face when he'd pulled the galaxy-on-a-chain from his jacket had been well worth his little deception. "How…when…you…"

"'Thank you' is how it's pronounced, darling," he'd teased. He'd motioned for her to turn around so he could fasten the clasp around her neck, taking the opportunity to admire the graceful line of her throat. She'd started to face him again, but he'd pushed her towards the artist's entrance with a reminder of how little time she had to get set up.

The pendant now rested beautifully against the hollow of her throat, catching the stage lights and seeming to illuminate her eyes and smile all the more. He saw her eyes scanning her audience, presumably looking for him. He didn't try to draw her attention, however; he quite enjoyed being hidden in plain sight before her.

"Thank you so much," she said as the applause died down. When she stood, Eames noticed how she seemed quite a bit taller than he remembered. _Must have changed her shoes before curtain call._ "This is my final piece for the evening, and I have a confession to make. Whenever I write something new, I like to make up a story to go along with the music. I've always drawn from fantasies like an elf wandering a forest, or a dolphin leaping into the stars. I've never used real experiences because I've always felt I could never do them justice. However, this piece is very much inspired by something real…or some_one_, I should say." The audience made sounds of scandalized approval while Eames froze in his seat. "A very, very good friend of mine made an unexpected trip to visit me today, and I'm delighted to debut this piece for him tonight. I hope you all enjoy it!"

He could have sworn he stopped breathing. The sweep of her skirt that he'd thought to have just been a clever design choice actually had a function. She flung the draped portion to the side to reveal a slit in the dress that went clear up to her left hip. As she resumed her seat, the purple stilettos that adorned her feet forced her legs into a consciously provocative display. Seeing her like that, so blatantly sexy with one leg exposed for toe to thigh nearly broke him right then and there. It didn't help that the song she'd composed for him (for _him_!) practically dripped with seduction. It started slow, but soon picked up in tempo, low notes flowing seamlessly into higher ones, faster and faster. Somewhere along the way she seemed to forget her audience, leaning far to one side and coming dangerously close to revealing more flesh than she already did. Her head lolled back and around to throw her hair over her face and catch on her wet, parted lips. Eames tried not to think about how much she looked like a woman in the throes of a mindblowing orgasm. She'd always been an expressive performer, never content to merely sit still when she poured such passion into her work. She always had to move, always had to be doing something with her entire body rather than just her hands. But this…this was different.

Eames remained motionless even when the applause thundered around his ears. Therese sat still as stone as well, her head bowed and her bow thrust upward like a sword. The curtain dropped, but not before she raised her head…and locked her mahogany eyes on his through disheveled locks. Even at this distance the heat in her gaze was unmistakable. _Sod it all._

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**As usual, all grammar and spelling mistakes are mine because I hate proofing my own work with a fiery passion**


	4. Chapter 4

**Once again, all mistakes are mine and mine alone because I'm lazy and hate proofing my own work.**

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The car ride back to Therese's apartment was painfully tense, Eames wanting nothing more than to have her right there. Restraint, always a difficult task in her presence, didn't come easily even when she seemed not to realize just what she'd awakened. The only outward indications that something was amiss were his relative silence and how he didn't touch her, not even lightly grasping her hand as he usually did.

"Okay," she began as they stepped into her apartment, setting her cello against the wall while he closed the door, "you've been awfully quiet since we left, so what giv-" The sudden, hungry kiss silenced any words and thoughts she might have had. Eames devoured her breath as it rushed out of her lungs when her back hit the wall. Good God, he'd wanted to do this for so long! He tried to slow down for her sake, but his lips had other ideas. The moan she made when he parted her lips and swept his tongue through her mouth seemed to taunt him, urging him to go further. He happily obliged. He covered her smaller frame with his, making sure not one inch of their bodies remained untouched. Only when her hands came up to cup his jaw did he finally slow his assault. She pushed him back just long enough to register the naked lust in his eyes. "Finally," she whispered, the one word a declaration, a battle cry, a plea.

Eames tried to think just what she meant by that, but thinking became bloody difficult with her lips tugging at his, her fingers buried in his hair, and her knee on his hip. Right now he had more important matters to concentrate on…like how her hands were now shoving his jacket off his shoulders. Next came his tie, which she nearly ripped off his neck, then his shirt. The sound of the buttons scattering across the room proved he wasn't the only impatient one. He gave her lips one more lick before pulling back to catch his breath. His hands went to the wall on either side of her head to keep from losing what little self control he still had left. Therese seemed to have no such reservations, though.

Her fingers and lips flew over him, touching anything and everything they could reach. One hand slid down his chest, achingly close to where he wanted her touch the most, while the other titled his head back to give her better access to his throat. She attacked the sensitive skin with a flurry of kisses, licks, and sharp bites that drew gasps and groans from him. _Innocent Southern belle, my ass._ He'd always known she was a passionate, outgoing woman, but this was a whole new side to her, wild and primal. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't damn hot.

A particularly vicious nip at his pulse point startled him back to reality. Her name slipped from his mouth, begging her to do something. Stop, go on, he wasn't quite sure at this point. "Ian," she breathed back. "Touch me. Touch me everywhere."

"Jesus," he mumbled against her lips before capturing them once again. He swore that taste of her was more addictive than opium, heroin, and whatever the hell Yusuf could concoct put together. Another call to God followed a bite to his lower lip. His arms pulled her tightly against him as he buried his face into her neck, inhaling her scent like a drug.

"Uh-uh," she whispered. "You finish what you started, hon." A strangled cry tore from his throat when she moved the knee that had been on his hip to press firmly against the growing bulge between his thighs. "I trust you know how to use this better with a woman instead of your hand." Was she actually making a masturbation joke right now? How could she even form a coherent sentence when he was struggling just to remember how to breathe? A throaty laugh from her at his reaction sent a jolt of lightning sizzling down to his erection. "Ian, if you don't take this dress off of me _right now_, I swear to God I won't let you get off until you beg me."

_Since you asked so nicely…_She gasped when she found herself suddenly facing the wall, her breasts pressing against the plaster while Eames' pulsing heat kept her in place. His hands shook only a little when he found the zipper and slowly, achingly drew it down. His eyes danced over every bit of flesh that became bared. The shudder that racked her body at the touch of his lips to her spine, the scratch of his stubble on her skin as he followed the zipper down gave his ego a very pleasant boost. Sliding his hands under the fabric and around her waist to pull her away from wall, he watched as the dress flowed down her body to pool on the floor. As much as nothing surprised him anymore, he couldn't help the sharp breath he drew in when he saw that she'd worn not a stitch of underclothes. She now stood in his arms in nothing but her stilettos and new necklace. Christ, she'd planned to seduce him from the beginning! _And doing a bloody good job of it._

He allowed her to turn to face him, giving him a spectacular view of the body he'd felt pressed against him so many times before. Her hands went to his shoulders to push his shirt off completely, then to the back of his neck to draw him down for a searing kiss. "Should I leave the shoes on?" she whispered into his ear, her breath hot and teasing against his skin. When he didn't answer for a long moment she drew back, a worried look on her face. "Ian?"

"I'm thinking." They shared a laugh at their ridiculousness before he leaned in to caress her earlobe with his lips. "Off." He paused and touched the orb hanging from her neck, watching as it seemed to glow from within. "Leave this on."

Therese shot him a bright smile that quickly turned into a sultry grin. "Take them off me."

Her hands remained on his head as he knelt before her. He kissed his way down her legs, raising one foot to unbuckle the thin strap, then the other. Maybe later he'd have her put them back on. "Has anyone ever told you you've got great legs?" he said between kisses on her thigh.

"Not that I've ever paid attention to," she replied with a smile as he stood to tower over her once more.

His hand slid down her back to the curve of her backside, pressing her hips firmly against his. He let out a shaky breath at the sound she made in response. "Are you paying attention now" His lips ghosted over her temple, his free hand mimicking her earlier movement and tilting her head back for a kiss to her throat.

"God, yes." That was all he needed to hear.

Lifting her into his arms, he started towards her bedroom, trying not to think about how her legs wrapped around his waist or the feel of her thighs in his hands. She worried his earlobe with lips, teeth, and tongue in what seemed to be a deliberate distraction. _Minx._ He tried to be gentle when he laid her on the bed, he really did. But Therese didn't appear to care in the least when he fell atop her, crushing her into the mattress. She pulled him back down when he tried to raise himself up, her fingers tracing the contours of his biceps while her tongue traced his lips. "Now this isn't exactly fair," she pouted, one hand tugging at the waist of his pants. "You're overdressed."

If she had been any other woman, one whose name he didn't even bother to learn, Eames would have made some snarky comment about not wanting to scare her with his size or proclaiming that he didn't need to be naked to make her see stars. But she wasn't just some anonymous body with only one use to him. Therese was so much more. And hearing her talk now, so vastly different from her usual, mostly clean speech, he could barely process two things at once. Her words weren't dirty, not by a long shot, but her tone itself was drenched with sex. It was fucking hot. He mindlessly obeyed her unspoken demand, rising up on his knees to undo his belt and pull the zip down. Therese surprised him again by sitting up and slipping her hands below the waistband at his hips. Her warm palms sliding over skin she'd never touched before brought a groan of appreciation from his lips. She hadn't even gotten to the best part of him yet.

She laid back down, pulling him with her and dusting hot kisses along his jaw. He felt her legs move further up his sides, allowing him to sink deeper against her, then her feet pressing against his thighs. She pushed his pants down his legs and onto the floor, surprising him with her creativity. "Clever girl," he breathed.

She chuckled, looking him straight in the eye. "Believe it or not, I have done this before."

Something about that admission/fact made his blood heat. "What's his name and Social Security Number?" he growled.

"Oooo, aren't we possessive," she laughed. "I kinda like it."

Eames couldn't take any more. "Keep talking like that and this'll be over before it starts, love."

He watched with rapt fascination as her pupils dilated until the warm reddish-brown irises nearly disappeared. She knew he was serious on both counts. "Well, we don't want that, do we."

Words were replaced with breathy sighs and soft moans of pleasure. Teeth scraped against skin. Fingertips pressed into sweat-slicked flesh while nails raked down a muscled, tattooed back. Quiet screams disappeared into kisses as hips found their rhythm and a hand found its way into long ebony hair. Therese's sultry feminine cries grew in volume, seeming to originate from deep within her gut, as she approached the end of her strength.

Eames finally rediscovered his voice at the sounds she made. "Tell me what you want, darling," he whispered hoarsely into her ear, earning him another moan. "Tell me."

"Harder," came her harsh reply.

He happily obliged. "What else?" A string of sounds escaped her lips, but the only word he could make out was 'bite'. "Bite what?"

She abruptly pulled his head back and met his stare with unabashed lust. He shivered at the look. "Bite my neck…when you come. Hard."

Eames decided he most definitely liked this side of her. He idly wondered how she'd concealed it so well for so long. He'd ask later after they both lay exhausted and gasping for breath. He covered her lips with his, devouring her cries with each thrust of his hips. Her tongue sought his in his mouth, curling around it and swiping at the sensitive roof. A familiar tingle formed at the base of his spine and soon spread throughout his abdomen and down his legs. He began to lose his rhythm, his hips snapping wildly as his orgasm approached. "Don't stop," Therese urged, one hand sliding down to his ass. "Don't stop…don't stop…" Her encouragement turned into a near-shriek when her release hit. Her back arched (most assuredly) painfully high, her nails digging into his skin with a vigor he didn't expect. Christ, she was beautiful. He followed her into the abyss mere seconds later, but not before finding enough strength to sink his teeth into her perfectly exposed throat just as she's demanded of him. Through the haze of his own orgasm he could have sworn she'd tightened around him even more at the bite. Not that he was complaining, however.

The wave finally passed, leaving him shaking with the effort to remain above her. He released his hold on her neck and gave the reddened, indented area a soothing sweep of his tongue. She sighed at the contact, her arms wrapping languidly around his back. Her ragged breath mingled with his as he separated himself from her tantalizing heat; she whimpered in protest, the only sound she could manage. He fell to one side and rolled her with him, her body limp and pliable as a rag doll. They lay in satisfied silence, broken only by their harsh breath.

Eames regained his first. "Not that I want to ruin the mood, but I've got a question for you." He paused thoughtfully, one hand leisurely stroking her arm. "Well, two…three questions."

A hollow chuckle wafted across his chest. "Ask away, Mr. Eames."

He suppressed a shudder at the use of his last name. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Planning what?"

He didn't buy her faked innocence, nor was he meant to judging by the smirk on her lips. "_This._ You wrote a bloody song for me and I know that didn't just happen today." When she didn't answer straight away he leaned in to nuzzle the darkening bite mark on her neck. "Come on, love. I'm curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity." She gasped at the sharp nip he gave her earlobe at her evasion. Her gaze remained on the Union Jack emblazoned above his heart, her fingertips tracing its shape. "If you must know, it's JoJo's fault." He recalled her friend Joanna, lovingly dubbed JoJo. She was the first one to notice his attraction to the cellist and had made it perfectly clear that a "never-ending abyss of pain" would be his fate if he ever made her cry. _Charming woman, JoJo._ "The last time you were here, when we danced…she let it slip that you…well, that you _liked_ me. God, that sounds so middle school!" She hid her face behind one hand as her shyness returned with a vengeance. _Adorable._ "Anyway, she told me, then we danced, and…I guess I just paid more attention that night."

He remembered that particular evening quite well. How could he not? They (he, Therese, and JoJo) had gone to a bar to celebrate JoJo moving up to first violin in their orchestra, just before Therese had gone solo. They'd left the formal party early, JoJo and Eames bored with the stuffy atmosphere in the banquet hall. They'd found a decent looking bar with a beautiful selection of liquor and had their own celebration. Therese had made a beeline for one of the pool tables to join another patron in a game. While JoJo had made up dirty limericks with a table of soldiers, Eames had watched Therese. She wasn't a bad player, but she wasn't good either. She seemed to understand the basics of the game, but her execution was flawed. After another missed shot he'd stood from his seat and called out to her above the metal song blaring from the speakers. "Fancy a pointer or two, darling?" He'd ignored the way her opponent looked him over with an unmistakable leer. His attention remained fixed on Therese as she'd smiled in appreciation. He'd stepped behind her to put her in the proper position. "Put your fingers like this" - his fingers moved hers around the cue, his other hand closing around hers at the back end – "and your elbow bent." He'd tried to ignore the feel of her skin against his hands, along with the scent of her hair, which had been pulled up from her neck. "Keep your back straight, too." He'd known perfectly well how scandalous their position looked, but he was too busy fantasizing about other locations and scenarios where he could have her bent over to give a damn. And she hadn't seemed to notice either way, too focused on lining up her shot. But her tipsy opponent had noticed. He'd reluctantly stepped back, giving a broad smile when she sank the shot with ease.

He'd walked away then, called away by an adamant JoJo, but not before he'd overheard the other woman say, "Don't take this wrong, but your boyfriend's fuckin' hot as hell." He'd allowed himself a cocky grin before tuning out what was sure to be a steadfast denial of anything between them.

JoJo's smile resembled a crocodile's as he'd approached, immediately putting him on edge. "I'm just gonna come right out and say it," she'd began, her body language telling him she was ready for a fight. "I know what you're thinking about Therese and let me make this perfectly clear…" She'd leaned in to him and whispered her next words across his ear. "If you _ever_ hurt her, break her heart, or make her cry, there'll be no escaping the never-ending abyss of pain I'll send you to." She'd pulled back, her honey-colored eyes boring into his, daring him to contradict her. "I know you like her, and I'd like to think you're good man at heart, so you've got my permission to go after her. But if you turn out to be just another asshole looking to tap a prime example of female ass and walk, I will find you…and I will kill you. 'Kay?"

There had been so many nuances in her short speech to process. JoJo had always been protective of her friend, without question. But this nearly crossed the line into possessiveness. And while she'd always talked to him with a slightly acidic edge, he knew she liked him well enough. If she didn't she'd have made sure he knew it. He could have responded with a snarky denial of his attraction to Therese or a heartfelt declaration of his honorable intentions. But then he wouldn't have been Eames. "Did you watch _Taken_ again, Joanna?"

She'd stared at him for a moment just as an upbeat 80s song started playing. She'd looked away first, her lips trying not to turn up into a smile. "Never you mind that. Now, are you gonna ask her to dance or do I have to throw you over there?"

That was when he'd come to understand the violinist. When it came to her own wants and needs, she was almost brutally blunt, not caring if anyone else overheard or judged her. But she cared more about the feelings of those close to her and did her best to help them without coming across too "sappy" as she would put it. God forbid anyone knew she could be as tender and affectionate about her friends as she could be venomous with her enemies. Eames couldn't blame her, however; he understood that mentality all too well. He'd left her with an assuring smile (genuine for once) and extended his hand to Therese. She'd tried to convince him she couldn't dance, and when that didn't work she'd tried running away to JoJo for protection. That hadn't worked either. She'd eventually relented, letting him lead her in simple steps and keeping her eyes on their feet. She'd finally built up her confidence enough to meet his eyes when she laughed, just as a slower, more visceral song the replaced the 80s pop. _Someone up there either likes me or is about to play a dirty joke. _He hadn't missed the slight apprehension in her eyes as she registered the music change, but she didn't pull away. He'd taken a chance and twirled her around, her back to his chest. His hands had behaved (mostly), but he hadn't been able to stop them from gripping her hips or shoulder instinctively whenever she swayed her backside against him.

He'd left the next morning for the ill-fated job in Budapest, mostly to clear his head and keep himself from diving headfirst into a mistake. "I remember that night," he whispered to her now. "Lovely of Joanna to give her blessing, yeah."

Therese looked up, her brows nearly meeting. "What do you mean?"

"She told me, in so many words, to make my move or fuck off. It's why I left so soon last time."

"Why?" Her hand went to the side of his head as if to draw out an explanation with her touch.

It worked. "Ah, let's just say I'm not good with expressing my feelings." He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her fingertips.

"Of course not. You're a man." He returned her smile when he realized she hadn't taken his sudden departure all those months ago to heart. "What's your next question?"

Now it was Eames' turn to look away. He thought about the right way to phrase it without coming off as a total twat or risk his mask slipping even further. He already exposed so much of himself to her, even while concealing a lot more. One hand slid down her arm to grasp her fingers, fondling them between his own. "Are you sure you've thought this through? I mean…being with me. This is your only chance to back out, Therese." He leaned forward to breathe his next words into her ear, his bastard side resurfacing for the moment. "Because now that I've tasted Heaven, I won't let you walk away tomorrow."

Eames feared he'd done something wrong when she pushed him back to level a stone-hard glare at him. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as she sat up on her knees, unconcerned about her nudity. "First of all, you can't make me do, or _not_ do, anything. So don't pull that shit with me. And secondly, I'm not some lovesick schoolgirl. I've given this more thought than necessary, Ian. I know what I'm getting into and I'm willing to accept the risks involved."

_Are you really?_ he wanted to snap at her. Instead, he ran his fingers over her shoulder and down her arm; it hit him now that the gesture had become a habit of his whenever he wanted to protect her from something he couldn't take care of with a bullet. "I'm not a good man, Therese. More than you're aware. I've made quite a few enemies in my life and…" He clamped his mouth shut before he revealed too much. _Too late._

"Enemies? What are they going to do? Blacklist you from flying business class? Take away your VIP Lakers tickets?" Her words were playfully mocking, but her tone was dead serious. Eames didn't bother to correct her assumptions; let her think that he only meant corporate rivals instead of nameless, faceless assassins. He turned to lie on his back when she threw a leg over him, settling her weight low across his stomach. "We've all done things we're not proud of, Ian. We've all made mistakes. Now, some people might hold yours against you, but I don't. I don't care what you've done, naïve as that might be."

_Oh, darling, you have no idea._ On one hand her ignorance was enough of a reason to walk out of her life right now before she came to harm, but on the other her faith in him was endearing. "I also gamble…a lot." _In more ways than one._

Therese smiled at him before leaning down to lay chest-to-chest with him, her necklace pressing into their flesh. "Why are you trying so hard to talk me out of this? Isn't this what you want, too?"

That note of fear in her voice hit him like a slap. He immediately pulled her up for a heated kiss to push the doubt right out of her mind, one hand caressing the back of her head. "More than you know, love," he whispered, his lips brushing hers.

Her fingertips traced his cheekbones and down his jaw to meet at his chin. "Then what are you afraid of?"

_Everything._ "Corrupting you." _Well, that was insipid._

"Ohhh, sweetheart," she crooned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You think I'm an innocent little princess?" Eames looked to the mark he'd left on her neck. He carefully touched it, thinking about how glaringly visible it would be in the morning... and how much she'd enjoyed receiving it. "I don't doubt you could probably teach me a few things, but I could make your head spin with the things I know." He had to close his eyes for a moment to regain control of himself. It didn't stop the low groan that vibrated through his chest at the thought of what she'd stored in that beautiful head of hers. "You said you had a third question, yes?" she asked around kisses to his throat.

_Good God, I've awakened a monster._ "Now that you mention it…Christ, woman!" Her teeth had found his nipple and tugged. He felt her lips turn up in a smile and met her eyes with a mixture of awe and anticipation. "Where the hell have you been hiding this hellcat, and why haven't you let it out to play sooner?"

She shook against him as she laughed. Music to his ears, second only to the sounds he'd coaxed from her earlier. "Ahhh, I wasn't sure you could handle it, what with your oh-so-delicate sensibilities and all."

Her teasing was brutal, but he liked it. "You sure you don't have me confused with some limpdick excuse for a man?"

Therese sat up and shifted her hips lower, positioning herself just over his throbbing erection. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts, a sigh cutting through the air at the contact of his rough palms on the sensitive skin. "Why don't you refresh my memory then." She arched into his touch as she took him inside her again.

Any other time Eames would have enjoyed the show, committing every move to memory as she rode him. But she'd asked…_demanded_ he prove himself. And who was he to deny a beautiful woman? He allowed her only a few moments of dominance, his thumbs bringing her nipples into hardened peaks, before skillfully rolling her beneath him. Now that he knew she liked it a little rough, he didn't hold back.

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**Omg, they totally did the DO! But this isn't the end of the story. I've got a couple more key scenes that need to play out before I call this fic done. Reviews make my world go 'round! –puppy eyes-**


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days were an agonizing paradox of contentment and torture for Eames. Now that they'd crossed the line between friends and lovers, he couldn't look at Therese the same way. Every move she made (walking from one room to another, stretching to reach something on the top shelf, simply playing her cello) seemed beckon him to her. Hell, even watching her wash her hands had become a sort of foreplay for him. Everything she wore from workout clothes to simple jeans and a T-shirt was the sexiest thing he could imagine. And nevermind the fact that she couldn't eat anything remotely phallic without finding herself on her back or against the wall with his tongue in her mouth (he was beginning to think she did it on purpose, however).

"Why do you even bother getting dressed?" he mused, pulling her hips closer to him as she straddled him on the sofa. He pressed lips and tongue into her skin, his ego boosted by the sight of numerous bite marks and patches of flesh turned red from his unshaven face. "They never stay on long anyway." He slipped a hand under her shirt and pushed it up to prove his point.

She laughed, gently removing his hand from her breast and bringing it to her lips. "Just in case of any more unexpected visitors." She had inadvertently forgotten to pay her rent on time and the landlord had chosen a most inopportune moment to drop by to remind her of it. Eames had tried to keep her pinned down, lifting his head from between her shaking thighs to growl out a warning, but the stiletto heel pressed to his neck had won the argument in her favor. She'd hurriedly thrown on her bathrobe and met the landlord at the door, not bothering to smooth down her hair. After promising to have the rent that evening, she'd dismissed the man with polite firmness, then sauntered back into the bedroom with her robe trailing on the ground behind her. Eames had resumed his earlier task with renewed fervor until she shattered and screamed his name.

"That's what locks are for, darling," he said now. His eyes followed their hands as she kissed his knuckles, then his fingers. With each kiss her lips parted just a little bit more, her teeth coming out to play. "You are an evil, evil girl," he breathed, realizing what she meant to do.

Therese gave him a smile that nearly made him come right there. "I've never claimed to a good girl, MR. Eames." His thumb disappeared between her lips and fell victim to her talented tongue.

"Jesus Christ!" The things she was doing to him, a mere shadow of an even more intimate activity, made his skin feel as if it had burst into flames. And she, this succubus sent to torment him until he died from madness or exhaustion, enjoyed every second of his torture. _Well that can't go unpunished._ While he still had some control of his motor functions, Eames' free hand dove down between her thighs and pressed. Surprised, she released him thumb with a cry and clutched at his shoulders. "What goes around comes around." He crooked his fingers and relished the way her body jerked in response, the look of almost violent ecstasy on her face. "I do believe this check, Therese," he purred through a sly smile.

"Oh, you play dirty," she growled.

"All's fair, darling." He brought her down into a kiss that stole her breath, the hand between her legs withdrawing to grasp her hip. He had to keep some distance between them to maintain some semblance of sanity. As was evidence by the way _his_ kiss quickly became _her_ kiss, it wasn't working all that well. _Ah, to hell with it_. Her hands had moved from his shoulders to his face while she toyed with his full lips. He removed one of her hands, his fingers closing gently around her wrist, and drew it down his chest. He felt her tense up slightly when he didn't stop at his abdomen. Instead, he brought her hand further down until her palm brushed over the hardness rising from his groin. She gasped at the contact; he groaned in pleasure. She released his mouth to look down between them, a silent understanding and excitement blossoming in her dark eyes. Although they'd done little else for the past three days than explore each other's bodies and learn what made the other lose all coherent thought to an onslaught of rapture, they hadn't done this. She'd teased, she'd contemplated, but she'd always ended up diverting her attentions elsewhere. He knew she was nervous; she'd never been so direct with a man, preferring instead to discover other areas that would elicit a shiver or an animalistic snarl. But now he wanted to show her that he trusted her, that she owned every last inch of him. He shifted when she gave an experimental push with the heel of her hands, a slight curling of her fingers. His head fell back against the couch as she grew bolder with her touch. The last thing he expected was for her to start giggling.

"You're vibrating," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not yet, but keep it up and I will be."

"No, no. You phone's ringing. In your pocket."

They froze for a moment, then felt the vibration against his right thigh. "Fuckin' hell," he groaned in frustration. Therese, biting her lip to keep from laughing outright, made to twist herself off his lap, but his free arm kept her in place while the other pulled out his phone. "Where do you think you're going?" She laughed but didn't fight his hold. He didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who was on the other end of the line. "Hello, Arthur. Perfect timing, as usual." He gave Therese an exaggerated eyeroll to show his irritation at the interruption.

"Good to know your phone still works," the point man replied just as dryly. "I left you half a dozen messages. Why didn't you return them?"

Eames glanced at Therese, her head resting on his shoulder while her hand came up to lay on his chest. "I've been busy."

"Clearly."

"Might I ask that you get to the point before I'm called away again?" His hand trailed slowly up and down his lover's arm, eager to resume their 'business'.

Arthur hesitated for a beat, obviously annoyed with his colleague's impatience. "There's talk of a special job. Thought you might be interested…if you're not too _busy_."

_Special job?_ That got his attention. "Hard to say if I'm interested without knowing any specifics."

"Well, that's not exactly something I can discuss over the phone."

Was that a smile Eames heard in the other man's voice? "Then what do you suggest? Email? Fax? Carrier pigeon?" Therese had no idea what they were discussing, but she stifled a giggle at his tone.

Arthur didn't rise to the bait. "Come down to _Emilio's_. You know, on Rosetta Street. I'll fill you in on the details." Eames paused to let what he just said sink in; Arthur, for a different reason. "And bring your girlfriend, Eames. I've been wanting to meet her for a while."

Eames continued to hold the phone long after Arthur had hung up. Not only was he in America, but he knew about Therese. _Bloody stalker, that one._ And if Arthur knew about her, who else did? A jolt of fear stabbed him in the gut at the thought. Only Therese's gentle voice, brimming with concern snapped him back to the present. "Ian? I think he's hung up, babe. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said lightly, returning his phone to his pocket. "Nothing at all." He thought it over for a moment then met the cellist's dark, worried eyes. "Now, how would you like to meet an old colleague of mine? Bit of a stick in the mud, but he's good for a laugh or two on occasion."

She smiled, but he could sense the stubbornness behind those eyes. He hadn't heard the end of this. "Sounds like fun." He allowed her to melt out of his grasp towards the bedroom, presumably to change into something more appropriate for going out in public than a paper-thin tank top and pajama shorts. She stopped in the doorway to glance back at him. "You know I trust you, Ian, and I don't want to intrude on things that aren't any of my business…but I hope that you can come to trust me with whatever burdens you bear, no matter how big or insignificant." She then graced him with a brilliant smile. "You're not as alone as you like to think."

Eames could only stare after her when she slipped into the bedroom and out of sight.

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**I am an abysmally slow updater. My apologies to everyone who's been waiting so long for this chapter. The next one may take a while as well because I've only got half of that written out so far. But we'll get to see Arthur! Hooray! As always, all grammatical and spelling mistakes are mine because self-proofing is a bitch.**


	6. Chapter 6

"See the chap with the litre of motor oil in his hair? That's Arthur."

Therese spotted the point man, then swatted Eames' shoulder. "His hair looks fine, Ian. If that's how you talk about such a good friend I'd hate to hear what you say about me."

"I said 'colleague', not friend." He didn't tell her that he'd never talked about to anyone; it was the only tried-and-true way to keep her safe. He also didn't need to tell her that Arthur was probably the closest thing to a friend he's ever had…aside from her, of course. "C'mon. Let's say hello and get this over with so we can get back to more important things."

A most becoming blush crept across her face at his tone. "Do me a favor and try not to embarrass me in front of your friend," she chided.

"But you're so lovely when you're embarrassed," he countered, lowering his voice as they approached the table where Arthur sat with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Let me rephrase: if you embarrass me with talk of our private activities, I'll hurt you. How about that?"

"You're not very good at threatening people, darling." Therese shushed him when Arthur saw them coming, standing when they got within earshot. For good measure, she jabbed a nail into his side with a smile towards Arthur.

"See you're still a charmer, Eames," the slender man greeted, turning his focus entirely on Therese. "His left knee is his weak point. Hit him there if you gives any trouble."

"Hey!" Eames protested, ignored by both.

Therese simply laughed. "I don't even want to ask how you know that." She extended a hand and gripped Arthur's firmly. "I'm Therese Howard."

"Yes, I've heard of you. A mutual colleague of ours is a big fan of your work."

"Really? I'm flattered!"

"Well, you play beautifully, especially your original compositions. Although I'm partial to your _Imperial March_ cover myself."

Eames looked between them as they spoke, mildly surprised that Arthur knew so much about her music and had never mentioned her name before. And what 'mutual colleague' was he talking about? Cobb? Ariadne? Yusuf? None of them seemed likely candidates to be fans of cello music. He knew the jealousy building inside him now wasn't because he thought Arthur might steal Therese away (well, not mostly at least), but because he didn't like sharing something that was his. He kept his face blank as they took their seats, Arthur pulling hers out for her before he could move. She wouldn't think too highly of his possessive thoughts and if she suspected anything she'd chew him out big time.

"Sooo, Arthur," he drawled lazily. "What was such a high-level secret that it couldn't have been handled over the phone?"

"Ian!"

"What?"

"Behave." Therese looked back to Arthur with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm sure you've wanted to smack him a few times for that attitude of his."

Arthur simply smiled, his eyes filled with genuine humor; he knew every dirty little secret the forger tried to keep hidden and/or forget himself. "It's perfectly fine. I've dealt with him in worse situations…and gotten to hit him a few times for it."

"You just can't let anything go, can you?"

"I can let a lot of things go, Eames. I just never forget."

"And just what is so funny, darling?"

Therese was trying (and failing) to go unnoticed, but she couldn't hide her mirth any longer. "You two. You sound like an old married couple. It's actually really cute." The men looked at each in exaggerated disbelief; they knew perfectly well how their bickering would appear to a casual observer. Part serious, part mocking it was the only way they really knew how to communicate with each other. "Oh, don't give me that look. You guys know it's true. Now, go on and talk. Ignore me."

Eames took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a gallant kiss. "Impossible, love."

Neither noticed Arthur's calculating gaze on them, storing the scene away in his mind for later. "Then I'll make it easy. You two talk, and I'll go make a phone call." Ever the gentlemen (though Eames would sooner have a root canal than admit it), they stood when Therese did, the instinctive gesture making her smile shyly. She reached up and kissed her lover's cheek, ignoring the scratch of his stubble against her lips. "Haven't talked to my mom in a while anyway."

Eames watched her walk down to the sidewalk as she put her cell phone to her ear; Arthur watched him. "She's lovely, Eames," the point man said softly, resuming his seat. "How you managed to win over someone like her baffles me."

"What do you want, Arthur?" Eames snapped. His paranoia was beginning to resurface, the probability that his former employers might be searching for him returning to the fore of his thoughts.

Arthur noted his colleague's impatience and immediately knew it was different than usual. There was genuine fear in his voice now. He let his sarcastic reply drop. "I've got an offer for you, if you want it."

Eames shot him a long-suffering look. "Well, get on with it."

"See, it's not technically a job, but I think you'll be hard pressed to pass it up."

"Arthur."

The point man gave him that annoying half-smirk that turned up one corner of his mouth. "It's more of a reunion, actually. Cobb's getting the old crew back together. No pressure, no going under, no kicks-" they both grinned at the memory of the forger taking far too much pleasure in Arthur being Yusuf's guinea pig "-just a day to see how everyone's been holding up since the Fischer Job." He pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.

Eames wasn't so quick to take it. "What's the catch?"

"What makes you think there's a catch?"

"Seriously? You're really going to ask me that question?"

"Look, I understand why you might be uneasy about this, but if nothing else it'd be a good way to lose that tail you've had on you for the past few days."

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**Sorry it's so short and ends with such a cliffy (aren't I evil?), but I wanted to give you guys something and I'm not sure when the next update is coming. Internet provider issues. Blegh. Anyway, thank you so so much to everyone who's reviewed and continues to wait ****insanely long**** for updates! I love you all!**

**P.S. How did I do with Eames and Arthur's interaction so far? Banter isn't my strong suit, so feedback would be most appreciated :)**


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